


life in every word

by agletbaby



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ennoshita is An Actual Director AU, Filmmaking, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5727700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agletbaby/pseuds/agletbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ennoshita has a lot to deal with. He's making a film that people actually have expectations for. He can't stop bumping into this one obnoxious journalist. And people keep expecting him to get a decent amount of sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	life in every word

“And so,” Ennoshita concludes. _"Fighter HQ _ is a story I’m really passionate about telling, and one I hope the audience will enjoy being told.”

He’s sitting in the office, which he still feels odd calling his, newly rented and still largely empty as it is. Opposite him is a journalist, who makes a vaguely affirmative noise as Ennoshita finishes, apparently still vaguely trying to pretend he’s interested in what Ennoshita is saying.

Ennoshita can’t really blame him for his boredom; it’s late and the guy clearly hasn’t done much research, so a lot of what Ennoshita’s saying is probably going over his head. It’s a little disappointing - Ennoshita obviously hopes that he’ll be presented as well as possible, but regardless, the magazine is a well-known one, its writers undoubtedly busy, and even to be included in this ‘Up And Comers’ series is more than he could have hoped for. (Others featuring include Cat and Tiger, a two-piece band that even Ennoshita has heard of, and Terushima Yūji, who admittedly seems to be famous for controversy, rather than any specific talent, but he’s doing well nevertheless. All of them are doing well. Ennoshita would like to be able to make the same claim.) Plus, he’s already forgotten the interviewer’s name, swallowed in a rush of preliminary information which he’d scarcely heard because of nerves which now seem unnecessary, so he can’t be too offended by a nameless interviewer’s inattentiveness.

“Right,” says the guy, scrolling through something on his phone. He’d prefigured the interview with a clarification that his questions were saved on there, but he does seem to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to it. “I don’t have anything more to ask, but is there anything you’d like to add?”

Ennoshita considers the question; contemplates saying something cheesy and meaningless like; ‘Enjoy the film!’, or maybe a reference, to one of the movies he’s lovingly referencing in his own? Nothing is coming to mind though, and he gives up after the silence extends for longer than seems natural. “Not that I can think of.”

“Good.” The journalist is typing something, clearly distracted. “I mean, not good-” He looks up uncertainly at Ennoshita, who gives him a small, cool smile, and then reaches across to turn off his recording device. “Let’s call it a day.”

They stand simultaneously, and Ennoshita is expecting nothing more from the meeting than a handshake and a parting of ways, but instead the guy smirks, hands firmly in his pockets.

“I can’t say when this’ll be published,” he says idly. “It could be the next couple of issues but if you have a release date for your film we could try and put it in one closer to the time.”

“Sorry,” Ennoshita replies with a shrug. “I can’t say yet.”

“Ah, what a shame,” replies the interviewer, the picture of professional nonchalance. Ennoshita’s getting used to actors, which is the only reason he can tell this guy’s apathy is studied - indifference is probably a prerequisite for journalists, so they don’t get caught up in what they’re reporting. It’s an unfortunate side-effect that it feels so rude. “Still, how about we exchange numbers, and you can text and let me know?”

“I have your office’s email,” Ennoshita says. “It’s as easy for me to just send you it that way.”

“I guess so.”

After that, any reluctance to leave on Ennoshita’s guest’s part vanishes, and his goodbye is quick and distracted. After he leaves, Ennoshita vaguely tidies a few stray papers and made sure everything on his laptop is saved, but there’s not much to do, because he’s still hardly begun moving his stuff in, and he exits only a few minutes later.

As he goes, he takes a moment to admire the nameplate on the door (‘Ennoshita Chikara: Director’).

 

Outside, he is being waited for. The group he meets is the core of his production cast: the assistant directors, Narita and Kinoshita; Aone who’s the art director; lead camera operator, Akaashi; Yahaba who’s in charge of soundtrack; and Watari, who’s both choreographing fight scenes on the film and acting as a stunt double in them.

It’s a comfortable group. He’s worked with everyone before – with the exception of Watari, who’s a friend of Yahaba he knew already – on production of his previous movie, a year and a half before, but they’re also probably his closest friends.

( _ House of Crows  _ has been described as “heart-warming, despite the gore”, and can loosely be called both a family comedy and a horror film. It’s a short, crammed with as many twists and shock reveals as Ennoshita could think up. Made on a minimal budget, in people’s houses and backyards as a way to spend the summer, with a mishmash of amateurs, they’d made a spontaneous choice to submit it to a few minor film festivals, where it had performed surprisingly well, and got enough recognition to secure Ennoshita not only support but actual, tangible funding for him to write and direct another film. Which is what they’re currently two days into doing.)

Greetings are exchanged and they set off towards the bar, only a few minutes’ walk away, which Ennoshita has passed before but never really wished to visit. Kinoshita, however, had insisted: they had to celebrate, he claimed, now they were making a  _ real  _ film. It still feels unreal to Ennoshita.

He falls into step besides Akaashi.

“Sorry for holding you all up,” he says.

Akaashi nods. “It’s fine. Yahaba only just got here too. How was the interview?”

“Fine.” Ennoshita shrugs. “It’ll be good publicity.” Akaashi gives him a look, but he doesn’t probe any further, instead moving on to talk about an effect he’s planning to try for a flashback scene they’re shooting in a couple of weeks.

They reach the bar, which is dim in a warm kind of way, and Kinoshita forces them to toast.

“To a great shoot!” he declares, and the sentiment is echoed with various levels of enthusiasm. Ennoshita takes a sip of his beer and smiles as Narita pokes Kinoshita in the side, causing his drink to spill slightly.

It feels close in here, but it’s not unpleasant. Gathered as they are, in a tight circle, Ennoshita feels content, literally surrounded by friends. Opposite him, Yahaba’s smirking at Narita and Kinoshita, now squabbling through grins, but he catches Ennoshita’s eye and smiles widely, proudly.  Aone, unengaged in conversation, is watching them, and he’s happy, even if his expression is a stern one. Akaashi, still by his side, nudges Ennoshita.

“Well done.” he says, lifting his glass slightly.

“We’ve only just started,” Ennoshita reminds him, but he can’t help grinning.

Ten minutes later, their group’s splintered: he, Akaashi and Aone aren’t stood far from the booth the others have commandeered, but they can’t make out their conversation from the rest of those in the bar, and so have fallen into a companionable silence.

Until.

“Aone!” A figure is making its way towards them, pushing through the suddenly crowded bar and waving all the while. “Yo!”

Now, Ennoshita wouldn’t call himself an unfriendly person. He likes people, on the whole. But when he realises who Aone’s friend is his feelings are distinctly disagreeable.

“I’m glad you’re tall, Aone,” says the journalist from earlier, the uncaring, phone one. The only one Ennoshita’s spoken too, because he isn’t really an ‘Up And Comer’. “I’d never be able to find you otherwise.”

Aone doesn’t respond, instead turning to Akaashi and Ennoshita. “This is Futakuchi.” So, at least, the name thing is solved.

Aone doesn’t offer any more explanation, but Futakuchi expands for him, facing them without really looking. “I was in the area and Aone told me he was here – we’re roommates – and I decided-” Ennoshita never finds out what Futakuchi decided, though, because at that point he stops suddenly, and then exclaims: “Director Ennoshita!”. Ennoshita, who had been attempting to avoid his notice by staring at the ground, in the hopes that object permanence would fail him, tries not to look too taken aback when Futakuchi grabs his shoulder, beaming; hopes the smile he returns isn’t too wan.

“Yeah.” he replies. He’s vaguely aware of Akaashi moving away, towards the others, the traitor, although a quick glance at Aone confirms he’s still there, looking as immovable as ever, if slightly bemused.

“Wow,” says Futakuchi, undeterred by Ennoshita’s lack of enthusiasm. He lets go of his shoulder, thankfully, and rocks back on his heels. “So the film Aone’s working on is the same one you’re directing. That’s wild!” He elbows Aone at this, who nods, still not looking entirely like he follows what’s happening.

Ennoshita nods too. “It is a surprise to see you again,” he says, neutral as he can, and then adds “Futakuchi.” with the hope that it’ll look like he’s known all along. “You should meet the rest of the cast.”

He doesn’t wait for Futakuchi to respond – he just turns on his heel and takes a couple of strides over to the table where Watari and Kinoshita are thumb wrestling.

Narita is watching, and Ennoshita pulls on his sleeve. “Please look after Aone’s friend.” he says quickly. Narita barely has time to agree, looking slightly nervous, before Ennoshita leaves him to stand with Yahaba and Akaashi, who are on their way to the bar. He doesn’t look back at Futakuchi, and mentally apologies to Narita, but before long he’s relaxed.

Futakuchi comes over to him once more that evening, when Ennoshita is talking to Yahaba. Or at least, trying to talk to Yahaba, only Yahaba is a terrible drunk who keeps stopping midsentence because he’s been distracted by the mood lighting. As Futakuchi appears beside Ennoshita’s, Yahaba has just finished a long and ultimately pointless story about a duck, and is staring at his glass like the pink drink inside holds the secrets of the universe.

“Hey Ennoshita,” begins Futakuchi, with a slight intoxicated lilt. Ennoshita, who has followed his singular beer with a coke, feels like the odd one out. “Guess what?”

“What?”

Futakuchi giggles. “I didn’t watch your film. The haunted house one.”

“Okay?” This isn’t exactly news to Ennoshita, clear as it was from his poor questions during their earlier interview, but the way Futakuchi is grinning touches a nerve. “Surely it’d look more professional to pretend you had, though?”

“I wanted to apologise.” He’s still laughing though, and although his face is flushed, it’s as likely that that’s alcohol as shame at potentially screwing up Ennoshita’s interview.

“Thanks. If it’s any consolation, I’ve never read your magazine.”

At this, Futakuchi’s giggling becomes full-on laughter; he has tears in his eyes in a few moments. It’s a little infectious, and Ennoshita finds himself genuinely smiling at Futakuchi. He’s half forgotten about Yahaba until there’s a tug on his sleeve.

“Did that guy – that interview guy – say he hadn’t even bothered to watch  _ House of Crows _ ?” Ennoshita nods. “How can he claim,” continues Yahaba, scandalised. “How can he claim to really know you?”

“I don’t think-” Before Ennoshita can finish, Yahaba has reached across to prod Futakuchi, who is still chuckling quietly to himself.

“Listen. Hey, listen.” Futakuchi looks up, blinking, so Yahaba presses on. “You have to watch that film. Partly because it’s really good, but also you can’t write about Ennoshita’s films without watching Ennoshita’s films. And he put so much effort into it. So you should put effort in too. And watch it. Because if you don’t you’ll be doing him an injustice. And then I’ll probably, like, fight you…”

Yahaba trails off during his final sentence, and once finished, he puts his head into his hands with a groan, which wouldn’t make for a great end to the speech in a hypothetical movie scenario and hence irks Ennoshita slightly. But the point is still communicated; Futakuchi stands as quickly as he can, looking uncomfortable and muttering something Ennoshita can’t hear. He skitters back over to Aone, standing silently with Narita and Kinoshita, who are getting louder and louder.

Futakuchi is soon replaced by Watari, who Ennoshita has a pleasant but inconsequential conversation with, as Yahaba interjects with unrelated and sometimes slightly horrifying statements. After he explains that decay is the only constant, Ennoshita and Watari make a unanimous decision that it’s past time for Yahaba to go home, and so leave as a three. Akaashi has already, and the rest of their party has disappeared into the recesses of the bar, and so Ennoshita doesn’t get a chance to say goodbye, nor remind them they need to get up early. He can only hope they make it to set on time tomorrow.

He stays with Yahaba and Watari whilst they wait for the taxi they’re going to share, but once they’ve gone, Ennoshita turns for home. It’s not quite midnight, and the walk – an unchallenging fifteen minutes – is a relief; the first time he’s had to himself, not doing something, all day. The yellow streetlights give the streets a slightly hazy, unreal glow, but the night air is cool and crisp, and Ennoshita could swear that, despite the light of the city, he can make out a couple of stars in the slither of night sky visible between the office blocks and apartments either side of him.

 

*

 

There’s an introductory spiel Ennoshita has prepared for relatives, members of the industry, interviewers, and friends-of-friends alike (sometimes, apparently, he gets two in one). It goes roughly like this:  _ Fighter HQ _ is a reversal of the typical action scenario, following the villains instead of the heroes, in an attempt to answer the question: why do the bad guys always lose?

It’s pretty boring, and sounds hollow when Ennoshita says it, but it’s as snappy as anything he can come up with. Someone once thought he was proposing to make some gritty piece with moral consequences, when really, the plot hinges on puns and people falling over a lot. Ennoshita can appreciate highbrow films, but given the choice between grim silence and slapstick humour, it’s not a tough call to make.

If people keep listening (he loses interviewers slash friends-of-friends by this point, at least), Ennoshita runs through the synopsis.  _ Fighter _ is predominantly set at the headquarters of a criminal syndicate, staffed entirely by a vaguely psychic leader and his ruthlessly efficient henchwoman, played by Sawamura Daichi and Shimizu Kiyoko. Neither of them are household names - Daichi’s never even acted before - but Ennoshita likes to namedrop them nevertheless, so people know he has a cast. A cast he’s proud of. They are really talented.

The headquarters comes under threat throughout the film from various outrageous heroes, who are themed, if not superpowered. There’s Bokuto and Tanaka, a duo, linked by enthusiasm and little else (their costumes clash), and Lev, who is unknowingly evoking Hercules with the lion mane he wears - unfortunately for his character, that’s about where the comparison stops, because all his attempts to take down Daichi’s base, like Bokuto’s and Tanaka’s, are unsuccessful.

However, because Ennoshita is nothing if not committed to genre, there’s another trio of heroes, only glimpsed until the film’s finale, at which point they - Kageyama, Hinata and Yachi - jump out and destroy the syndicate in a blaze of fists and bullets. Mostly the latter though, because Yachi is the only person in the film to carry a gun (much to her concern - getting her to stop holding it like it was about to bite her was an early obstacle) and firepower tends to win against karate. Cue fake blood and victorious music.

That is normally where Ennoshita stops explaining. Either people have lost interest or he sends them the script and sample clips, because he is far better at words when there’s a middle man, be it paper or actor. And the other stuff there is to the film is harder to explain.

Like Lev’s face lighting up when he saw his lion’s mane, and Ennoshita being proud of costume and casting - it was a perfectly in character reaction - but also just glad, because he’s improved at least one person’s mood with his film, which is really all he wants to do.

Like talking ideas over with Tanaka and Kinoshita before there were even any practical plans, and all three of them ending up in hysterics over a line Ennoshita had been debating scrapping; thinking perhaps that people will like this, all of it, not just the couple of jokes he’s agonised over and ended up satisfied with.

Like being approached afte making  _ House of Crows  _ =by a producer asking if he had any more ideas and, having hearing them, being - still being, Ennoshita gets emails from Suga at least once a week - so confident and enthused that it makes Ennoshita just a little bit steadier when he remembers.

It’s things like this that really make the film, give it a vibrance, because Ennoshita is actually making something that people already like and believe in, and maybe that will continue, and when he thinks that, Ennoshita wants to grab the nearest interviewer, friend-of-a-friend or not, and tell them about his cast and crew, and this film they’re all united over.

 

*

 

It has not been a good day.

First off, the second stunt double doesn’t turn up, and considering they only has two, this is a considerable problem. Watari can’t fight himself. The scene was supposed to be a night one, but dawn had shoved its way above the horizon before anyone had managed to contact Kyoutani. He’d turned up eventually, held up by a delayed train, rather than any actual fault on his part, but Yahaba (who had led the attempt to contact Kyoutani, and had looked just the tiniest bit relieved when he appeared) is still glaring. The scene has been put off indefinitely; Ennoshita hopes Narita can get it rescheduled fast, because he’s not actually sure what he’ll do if they end up overrunning. The budget is already wearing thin.

Then, throughout the day, he’s been badgered by Tanaka, who wants him to add in more scenes in which he interacts Kiyoko. Ennoshita doesn’t want to do this. Tanaka knows that. He comes anyway. He’s even started bringing others, which is just unfair. Bokuto seemed equally enthused, but Hinata hadn’t even know what Tanaka was asking for, simply following when summoned. And whilst Nishinoya was keen, he’s not even in the film – he does a mishmash of technical - read, resolutely behind the scenes - jobs. Ennoshita has and will continue to refuse, but it’s giving him a headache.

And now this.

He doesn’t even know what Akaashi wants yet, but even though the panic on his face is subtle, it’s telling. The expression pairs poorly with the filming schedule in his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi begins, sounding tired. It’s the end of the day, which Ennoshita has been looking forward to, and he’s helping with the clear-up so that everyone can get away and start tomorrow fresh. Ennoshita shifts the case he’s holding, containing a disassembled boom, onto his hip. “I hadn’t realised we were filming the scene tomorrow.”

Ennoshita pauses. “Which scene?”

“The flashback. I’ve been experimenting, but I can’t get it to look right.”

“Oh.”

“Digital editing doesn’t have the right effect. We really need to do it physically, with a lens, but I don’t know how to get one on such short notice. Or even which one to get.”

“Right.” Ennoshita moves the box to his other hip, and regrets the four hours of sleep he got last night - regrets not getting more, so that he could actually think straight, and at the same time regrets not staying up, because maybe if his day was longer he could have dealt with this already. Somehow.

The scene Akaashi is talking about is important in establishing Daichi’s character, so they can properly claim to be a villain-orientated film. He remembers, in a blissful, calm planning session months ago, commenting that it would be good if it used a tinted effect he’d seen in some other feature. If Ennoshita’s being totally honest, he’d then forgotten about it. But Akaashi clearly hasn’t. He looks on edge. Once they’ve sorted this out, Ennoshita is going to make him go home and sleep.

He’s about to tell Akaashi that it’ll be fine not to use the effect, but Akaashi interrupts. “It was used by Shirabu Kenjirou,” he tells Ennoshita. “And Aone knew someone who got his number, so you can just ring Shirabu and ask.”

He’s holding his phone out to Ennoshita, the number already keyed in. Akaashi has pre-prepared this panicked, last minute plan. Ennoshita takes a moment to appreciate his camera operator, and friend.

“Can’t you ring him?” he asks.

Akaashi shakes his head. “I’ve never actually spoken to him.”

Neither has Ennoshita, really. Shirabu is another young filmmaker, who was highly commended in a junior festival which  _ House of Crows  _ had been submitted to, and so the two of them had posed together for photos which had ended up on various minor film blogs with captions like ‘Talents of the Future???’. They’re not close.

“Okay then.” Ennoshita resignedly decides he hasn’t got anything to lose, not if this could improve the film, not if Akaashi’s going to be on edge during filming. He swaps the boom for the phone and presses the call button.

Shirabu takes a while to pick up, and when he does, he doesn’t say anything.

“Hello?” ventures Ennoshita. “Is this Shirabu Kenjirou?”

_ “Who’s this?” _

“Ennoshita Chikara?”Although he’s about as sure about his identity as he is anything else, it comes across confused.

There’s a pause.  _ "Right.” _ Shirabu doesn’t sound happy to hear from Ennoshita, but it’d probably be stranger if he did, so Ennoshita tries not to let it faze him. He glances at Akaashi, who looks uninterested.  _ "How are you, Ennoshita?" _

“I’m good, thank you. Are you well?”

_ “Yes.” _ He was horrifically blunt in their previous brief conversations, and again, Ennoshita has to tell himself that’s just Shirabu being Shirabu. Several times.  _ “Can I help you something?” _

“Ah, yes. In your film last year there was an effect you used. A misted, sort of, fish-eye effect?” Ennoshita can hardly remember.

_ "Yes.”  _ Shirabu says again, more carefully, and leaves it at that.

After a moment Ennoshita realises he’s expected to go on. “Uh, well, we’re making another film-”

_ "I heard.” _

“Oh, okay. Well, we were wondering if you still had the lens you used. And, if you do, whether we could borrow it?”

There’s a beat. Akaashi’s lack of interest is beginning to look forced. _ "When for?” _

“Tomorrow. If that’s possible.”

Another pause, longer.  _ "You’d have to come and pick it up tonight, but I have it.” _

Ennoshita’s thanks comes out in a rush. Shirabu gives him his address, with no inconsiderable amount of reluctance, and when Akaashi sees him noting it down, he lets out a long, visible breath in relief.

The set’s pretty much packed away – they’d been filming on location, a park, for a scene in which Tanaka and Bokuto’s characters are first introduced – so Ennoshita, taking the boom case back from Akaashi, tells him to go home.

“I’d be willing to pick up the lens.” Akaashi says, levelly.

“It’s fine. I’ll have it for you tomorrow,” Ennoshita pauses for emphasis. “So go home and _ sleep _ .” Akaashi nods and, having walked with Ennoshita over to Kinoshita’s car, which is pretty much their only way of bulk transporting equipment and props, goes on his way. Ennoshita watches him go enviously.

He leaves Narita with the responsibility of seeing everyone off-site, because twilight is already comfortably settled above them, and Shirabu’s apartment is in the opposite direction to his, which that means far more travelling tonight than he was expecting. But it’s fine, because the scene will be filmed and it’ll be as good as it can be and Akaashi will be content, because now he thinks about it, Ennoshita can remember him talking about this scene from time to time, it’s clearly been on his mind, so Ennoshita  _ is _ glad that they’ll be able to film it as planned, even if does mean trekking out to the city’s edge. He repeats this line of thought to himself. And again. The fourth time he’s reasoned it out like this, he feels justified in the last minute journey, and he’s able to walk to the station without bitterness. Or at least, with less.

On the platform he meets Aone, holding a large cardboard box. He’s getting the same line, it turns out, and they stand in comfortable near-silence for five minutes until the train arrives. As they board, there’s a shout from behind them.

“Aone! Aone! Hold the door!”

It’s Futakuchi, the journalist guy and, Ennoshita recalls dimly, Aone’s roommate. Aone can’t hold the door with the box in his hands, so Ennoshita is ready to his foot in its way, but Futakuchi runs and makes it on his own, leaping across the gap between the platform and carriage and grabbing a pole to steady himself. The train isn’t crowded, but there aren’t spare seats near them, so both Ennoshita and Aone are standing too.

“You should have told me,” Futakuchi begins pedantically, addressing only Aone. “That you were getting the train from my station today. We could have got the train together.”

Instead of pointing out that is, in fact, the situation, Aone glances towards Ennoshita with some urgency. Futakuchi notices the look, pulls a face, and then follows Aone’s gaze. Instantly, he grins - a surprisingly genuine expression.

“Director Ennoshita! Hi!” 

If Aone is too quiet sometimes, Ennoshita thinks, Futakuchi more than makes up for it. An old woman shuffles her shopping trolley away from them. “Hi.”

“You look tired.”

Ennoshita has been told he looks tired for as long as he remembers; at his most awake, he is sleepy eyed, and right now he is exhausted, so he can’t really fault Futakuchi, even if his cheery delivery is aggravating. He agrees mildly.

Before Futakuchi has a chance to respond, the train stops at a station, and they are caught in a mix of boarding and debarking. In a minute it’s calmed, and the train departs, and Futakuchi has moved on to other topics.

“Aone, go and sit down.” There’s one seat in the middle of the row which is being ignored, and Futakuchi nods towards it, prods Aone with his elbow, urging him. Aone shakes his head, reluctant. “Go on, you should sit down. You know how people with children have to sit? Well, you have a box. That’s kind of like a baby.”

It’s probably only to get Futakuchi’s poking to stop, but Aone concedes and takes the seat. Because he’s holding the box, his elbows jut out, into the space of the seats on either side; Ennoshita sees the girl on his left glare. Aone shuffles himself in, with little success.

Futakuchi has followed Aone down the aisle, so Ennoshita drifts after him, and they stand together, above Aone. Futakuchi talks inanely. Ennoshita doesn’t pay attention – it’s suddenly occurred to him that it may be good to try and get some footage from a train’s window for the film’s final moments, in order to emphasise how fast the villains are fleeing.

They reach another station, and the train’s sudden jolting stop takes him by surprise – he’s suddenly shaken out of his thoughts and into Futakuchi’s side.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, righting himself.

“Oh, it’s fine,” responds Futakuchi, with a voice full of sugar. “I feel flattered.” Ennoshita is suddenly reminded how unhealthy sweets are.

“You shouldn’t.” he replies flatly.

The seat on Aone’s right has been vacated, and Futakuchi pushes Ennoshita into it with his elbow, almost before its previous occupant has got up. “You’re tired, right?” he says, when Ennoshita gives him a look.

There’s a seat empty across the aisle from them too, and the glaring girl quickly slips into it. Futakuchi takes her seat, and then leans into Aone’s arm with a tired sigh. There is a moment of stillness; a lull in which Ennoshita can only hear the rattling of the train, and it seems a deeper silence than any absence of noise.

It is inevitably broken.

“So,” says Futakuchi. “What’s in the box?”

Aone, in lieu of a verbal response, opens it, and Futakuchi peers in. Ennoshita does the same, mostly because he can.

There’s an assortment of odd items, hardly discernible from one another, all jumbled in together.

“They’re props, right?” Futakuchi, with a glance across to Ennoshita. He grins toothily when Aone nods.

Futakuchi continues talking, taking items out of the box and enthusing, and Ennoshita supposes Aone responds in his typically understated way, but he tunes out again, trying to remember the address to Shirabu’s apartment. Dusk shouldn’t be settled yet, but a number of dark clouds are hurrying it on so that the sky is darkening early. He stares idly out of the window at it, before blinking himself out of the lull. He turns back to the other two, just in time to find Futakuchi addressing him directly.

“Pardon?”   
“I was asking where you were going. We’re getting off at the next stop.”   
“Oh. I’m a couple further, I think.”   
“You think?”

“I don’t normally come this way. I’m picking something up.”

“Ohhh.” Futakuchi’s voice is low, and he looks like he’s realised something but before Ennoshita can question him, the train begins to slow, and Aone carefully stands. Futakuchi does the same, and then abruptly sits down, and turns to back to Ennoshita.

“Listen,” he says, leaning into Aone’s empty seat. “We should do another interview.” The train stops. “The article’s not going to run for a while – we’ll wait until your film comes out. This one will be more in-depth. The other one was, like, preliminary.”

“Sure,” Ennoshita says quickly, because Futakuchi has stood back up and is blocking the aisle, looking at him intently, with an expression that Ennoshita, who hardly knows him, after all, can’t name. An old man, wanting to leave, clears his throat. “Sounds fine.”

“Aone can give me your number.” Futakuchi replies quickly, and then skips down to where Aone is waiting. He’s moved onto another topic before they’re out the door (“Obara better have cooked something good for dinner.”) but Ennoshita, left alone in a full train, spends the rest of his journey turning the proposal over.

It’s a thankfully short walk from the station to the address Shirabu gave him. The sky above Ennoshita is completely covered in dark cloud now, ready to burst. It’s the type of sky which, in a film, would prefigure the world’s end, he thinks. Perhaps not the whole world, but at least an individual one. Some great trauma – probably a death, which would change everything for a protagonist – would be about to be revealed. It’d be a good story, one that featured this kind of sky, but it doesn’t appeal to Ennoshita. He’s happy as he is, and glad the weather only sets the mood on screen.

He reaches Shirabu’s just before it starts to rain.

“You made it.” says Shirabu blankly when he opens the door, which is the closest Ennoshita gets to a welcome. He steps back after that, back into the gloom of his apartment, and Ennoshita tentatively enters, murmuring a greeting as crosses the threshold.

It’s dark inside. No lights are on, and whilst all the windows are uncovered, the dark clouds and latening hour mean the room – a general living area - is still largely shadowy. The glow of a screen, from a sofa in the corner stands out, and Ennoshita stares at its source for longer than is polite in order to discern its owner. A pair of dour eyes meet his for a moment, before they flick away without a word being uttered. Ennoshita is left with an uneasy feeling.

“Kawanishi,” Shurabu says from the other side of the room, having turned to find out why Ennoshita wasn’t right at his heels. It’s presumably an introduction. “This way.”

Ennoshita follows him into an adjoining room. Shirabu turns on the light, banishing the gloom, something Ennoshita feels embarrassingly relieved about, and then opens a cupboard, full of boxes. Silence descends as Shirabu begins to sort through them, whilst Ennoshita shifts from foot to foot, inexplicably aware of how he’s standing.

“So,” begins Shirabu, after a moment. “You’re still directing.”

“Yes. And you’re-”

Shirabu cuts in before Ennoshita can finish, which is probably a good thing, because he can’t remember, if he ever knew at all. “I’m working as part of the production team at a studio. It’s very rewarding. Ushijima Wakatoshi is appearing in one of our upcoming films.”

“Wow.” Ushiwaka is a rising star, appearing with exponential frequency in any number of films. He’s supposed to be very good, but Ennoshita hasn’t paid him much attention - he moves in circles far above the one  _ Fighter HQ _ is being made in.

“It’s an honour to work with such a capable actor.” Shirabu stills for a moment. “Honestly, a dream come true. After all, so long as you have a strong cast, it doesn’t matter hugely what happens behind the scenes.”

Shirabu has resumed his search of the cupboard, even speeded up – a stack of boxes he’s examined without success is growing by his side – and so Ennoshita can’t see his face, to work out what he means by this. It feels personal. “But,” he hazards. “You work behind the scenes too, don’t you?”

“The job of the crew,” says Shirabu slowly. “Is only to capture the performances of actors to the best possible quality.” He speaks almost reverently, and his words have the air of a mantra often aired, which is relieving to Ennoshita; this is just Shirabu being principled.

It’s a sentiment he finds incredibly antagonising anyway. “I have to disagree,” he says, as mildly as he can. “Actors don’t work in a vacuum. They may not understand the script, they may not be giving the best performance they can. And the only ones who can fix that is the crew. If you have a good crew, you can end up with an incredible film, even with less experienced actors than Ushijima.” He pauses, seeks for a peace offering - he doesn’t want to not getting the lens, and being able to prove Shirabu wrong with his film. “Obviously it’s best to have both, though.”

“That’s true.” Shirabu straightens up, holding a metal case. “Please return this soon.” he says. Ennoshita takes it, and follows Shirabu again, back through the darkened first room, to the front door. Kawanishi silently watches them walk through.

“Thank you,” says Ennoshita genuinely, holding his coat across the box, so the rain can’t reach it.

“That’s alright.” Shirabu replies, and then adds: “It’s been a pleasure.” in a tone that implies it’s been anything but. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

He walks back to the station, in the rain and darkness – because night has fully gathered itself now, cold and murky – and hopes that Akaashi is truly grateful for the lens, held under his coat.

In Ennoshita’s pocket, his phone vibrates.

 

*

 

A couple of days later, they’re doing an evening shoot, so Ennoshita gives everyone the afternoon off. He’s been feeling concerned since Hinata had almost fallen asleep standing up, whilst carrying a camera, and he doesn’t really want either getting damaged. So he tells everyone to rest, and then packs up Shirabu’s lens, all done with now, in order to return it.

“Where are you going?” Yahaba asks, catching Ennoshita as he leaves his office. He explains as briefly as he can, neglecting to mention the fact the journey will probably take him all afternoon, and so he won’t get any downtime himself, which he has a suspicion is what Yahaba has come to badger him about.

This suspicion is proved fact when Yahaba insists on coming with him - “I brought you lunch,” he explains, and Ennoshita’s stomach rumbles traitorously just as he tries to deny being hungry, so in the end he gives in and they head to the nearest station.

They’re on a train, Yahaba with the lens case on his lap, both eating salmon onigiri, and Ennoshita suddenly feels calmer. It’s nice not have to worry about this alone. Directing something people actually have expectations for, he’d been prepared to do a lot of solo work - after all, the film is ultimately his, he wrote it. He hardly wants others to have to deal with the responsibility. But sometimes, when they volunteer- he can’t refuse, can only enjoy.

Yahaba doesn’t need to be here - both on the train and at filming. Being in charge of soundtrack, he doesn’t need to do anything until the film wraps up. But he’s been on set pretty much everyday so far. So much of his crew, Ennoshita thinks, is like that.

It’s very quiet on the train - an uneasy time of day; most people are inside, with no need to go anywhere.

“Thanks,” Ennoshita says, into the carriage, to Yahaba, he supposes.   
“It’s fine?” Yahaba says, through a mouthful of rice. “I mean, they’re only shop bought.”

Ennoshita is going to clarify, explain that honestly, this lunch is really the least of his reasons to be grateful to Yahaba, but his phone goes off and, checking it, he lets the rest of the thanks go unsaid.

 

They reach Shirabu’s flat eventually. The journey is stupidly long, according to Yahaba, although Ennoshita can’t help but feel that it would have felt faster if he stopped complaining. He knocks. 

There’s a pause.

The pause gets longer.

Ennoshita curses himself, because somewhere, underneath the rush of the morning, the night, the days before, it had completely slipped his mind to actually check that Shirabu would be in. 

He’s trying to work out whether any of their neighbours are around, whilst Yahaba frowns deeper and deeper, when the door finally, mercifully opens.

“Hello,” says Shirabu’s roommate. Kawanishi? Yeah, Ennoshita thinks so.

“Hi,” he replies, a little frantic. “We’ve come to return the camera lens.”

“Ah.” Kawanishi appraises them for a moment, and Ennoshita glances at Yahaba, who looks rather unnerved. “I see. Well, that’ll be ten thousand yen then.”

“Huh?” says Ennoshita, and then corrects himself to “Pardon?” They’d never discussed prices but, really, he can’t afford that much. “We hadn’t discussed that.” They don’t have the budget-

Kawanishi interrupts him worry. “Kidding.” he says, without humor, or any change in expression or tone.   
“Oh.” Ennoshita glances at Yahaba again. “Okay. Well, we’ll just- give you it back then.” The lens is awkwardly handed from Yahaba to Ennoshita to Kawanishi. “Thanks.”

 

The moment that he hears the click of the flat door closing, Yahaba turns to Ennoshita and makes a face. “What a jerk.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, seriously, that was so rude.”

“Mm hm.”

“You shouldn’t have given him his thing back. I know Akaashi said Shirabu was stand-offish, but-.”

Ennoshita stops walking, just for a moment, and Yahaba ends up stumbling into him. “That wasn’t Shirabu.”

Yahaba doesn’t reply for several moments, and when Ennoshita glances at him to find out why, he’s looking scandalised. “You gave that lens back to a stranger?” he says, his voice higher than usual.

“No.” Ennoshita replies. He’s almost offended at Yahaba’s lack of faith, but it’s such a panicky, pessimistic conclusion to jump to that he thinks it says more about Yahaba than Ennoshita. “That was his roommate, I think.”

“Oh.” They walk in silence for a few moments, and Ennoshita tries to work out whether there’s anything at all in his fridge. He resolves to go home via the corner shop before he gets there, when Yahaba speaks up again. “Is the real Shirabu as bad?”

“I mean,” Ennoshita begins, but he doesn’t really know Shirabu well enough to say. “He didn’t ask for money?”

“Oh.”

“I don’t agree with his approach to filmmaking, though.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a very distancing approach. Leave it up to the actors, and anyone behind the cameras should just, make themselves scarce, I suppose.”

“So it isn’t filmed?”

Ennoshita reminds himself that Yahaba is tired too. “No. He means, like, the crew should just operate the technical side of things, and leave all creative aspects up to the cast.”

Yahaba makes a weird noise, which it turns out, is a laugh. “I was just- imaging Kyoutani in charge of a film.” he explains, stuttering slightly. “He’d actually fight people.” He recovers, and tilts his head to the side, counting on his fingers. Ennoshita assumes he’s going through the cast. “No,” he eventually concludes. “We’d crash and burn if we handed things over to the  _ actors _ .” He says the last word with so much overdramatic scepticism that Ennoshita can’t help but smile.

“Shirabu would probably say that’s because we haven’t got anyone strong enough.” he says gloomily, as they reach the station.

This time, the curl of disgust in Yahaba’s lip seems genuine. “You’ll just have to prove him wrong, then,” he says. “It shouldn’t be hard.”

 

*

 

They’re only doing principle photography for two weeks, but after a week and a half, Ennoshita can’t imagine doing anything else - this is how he’ll fill his life. It’s varied work, of course, but there’s a rhythm to it – certain things that make each day feel like one of a set, tie it together into one experience.

Every morning, Kinoshita brings him a coffee, at some point before filming begins. Generally, of his two assistant directors, Ennoshita would say that Narita is the organised, dependable one, whilst Kinoshita is more... enthusiastic. But in this ritual, he is completely reliable, and so Ennoshita always gets either a cup pressed into his hands as he hurries cast and crew into their starting positions. He’s not sure why this has come about, but he doesn’t object.

Another normality - no day of filming is complete without Kageyama and Hinata fighting. At this point, it’s mostly died down to petty squabbling, but occasionally they’ll become intense about it again. Often in the middle of a scene. Even though their characters are supposed to be allies. Ennoshita often entertains the idea of coming up with a way their characters can fight one another in the film, and then giving Watari and Kyoutani the morning off, so they can fight it out for real. Maybe then they’d stop. He can only dream.

He’s got used to the space too. The sign on his office door, identifying him as director, no longer stands out – he only skims it, like it’s just another part of the woodwork, instead of the symbol of ambition fulfilled, which it had seemed when presented to him, embarrassedly, by Narita. Inside, he’s gotten comfy. The surfaces are covered with paper and it’s become an unofficial storage space for equipment too. He’s even slept here a couple of time, so whilst it’s not exactly home, it’s getting closer. He resolutely doesn’t think about how much cleaning up it’s going to take. How soon that’ll be.

Something else, newly normal, are the texts he gets from Futakuchi. Several times a day, and often throughout the night (Futakuchi sleeps a lot, Ennoshita learns, but he makes up hours through naps and lie-ins, so he’s as likely to be awake at midnight as midday) his phone beeps at him, with some opinion or question. Futakuchi has a lot of both. Sleeping patterns aside, Ennoshita knows what his favourite films, and sport, and karaoke preferences are, and what his dream house and, bizarrely, eye-colour would be, as well as exactly what he thinks about the interns in his office, and the woman who sat opposite him on public transport a week ago, and most meals he has. He thinks Ennoshita should wear a peaked cap as befits a director in a fifties cartoon, and promises to buy him one for his next birthday. He watches Aone’s copy of  _ House of Crows  _ and Ennoshita had thirty texts from him when he returns to his phone at the end of filming, detailing his reaction to every single scene.

In return, Futakuchi knows Ennoshita’s favourite films, and film soundtracks, and actors, and his thoughts on Futakuchi’s favourite films. Ennoshita has never claimed to be eclectic, and anyway, Futakuchi doesn’t seem to mind when he talks about films and nothing else - even when, after a long day, Ennoshita sends several long, successive texts about how angry he is about critical attitude to popular films (and then another apologising for being rude about critics, because he’d forgotten Futakuchi’s profession - or rather, if he’s being honest, that Futakuchi isn’t part of his usual group of friends). If anything, Futakuchi seemed happy -  _ 'such passion!!' _ he texts, and Ennoshita would have read it as sarcastic, if it hadn’t been immediately followed by a number of smiley faces.

It’s easy to text Futakuchi, and because they talk enough to quickly tire introductory topics, Ennoshita feels like he’s known him much longer than he has. Talking to someone outside the set is refreshing too - although Futakuchi does make an effort to ask how it’s going. One evening, a couple of days after their encounter on the train and his first text, Futakuchi asks if they got the lens okay. Ennoshita tells him yes, and gets a series of happy kaomojis in reply, and it’s only afterwards that finds himself wondering how Futakuchi knew about that - he can’t remember mentioning it. Still, it’s possible if he did, and if not, Aone probably told him. It doesn’t bother him for long, anyway, because then Watari bounces over with a question about blocking a scene and, really, it’s hard to concentrate on likely inconsequences when there’s just so much to do. He doesn’t really have the time to concentrate on anything.

That’s one of the nights Ennoshita ends up sleeping in his office, because by the time he’s finished, there’s really no point heading back to his flat. Futakuchi is the second person to berate him for this, and it’s almost funny how much he sounds like Narita - the first - who’s been perfecting his ‘You Need To Get More Sleep And Please Listen This Time You’re Going To Collapse One Day’ lecture since high school.

 

*

 

Ennoshita’s braced for another one of those lectures when Narita comes up to him after they’ve wrapped for the morning. It’s the penultimate day of shooting, and whilst they’re on track to finish filming, there’s just so much to put together. As a result, he’s spent the last two nights on the sofa in his office.

Instead, Narita smiles at him. “We’re going out for lunch.”

“That’s good.” Ennoshita is planning to use his hour off to explore different lighting filters, and there’s a squashed convenience store sandwich waiting with his laptop. Still, he’s glad his crew are resting up, even if it does feel slightly like a taunt for them to remind him what he’s missing.

“‘We’ means you too.” Narita says, fondly exasperated, when Ennoshita doesn’t say anything more.

“Oh- oh, no, I can’t-”

“I told you he’d say that.” From nowhere, Kinoshita appears, looking devious.

“I really don’t have time-”

And then, there’s a localised hurricane. Well, technically, it’s just Tanaka and Nishinoya, running over, but really, there’s not much difference in effect. Ennoshita feels off-balance, haggard and annoyed, which all seem like emotions he could potentially have as a result of disruptive miniature weather patterns, but he’s definitely having right now, as Noya bounces on his shoulders. Narita’s smile becomes apologetic.

 

In the face of all this - good cops, bad cops, and the offer of food - Ennoshita relents. Kinoshita’s already seen everyone out, and he locks up afterwards, and then joins Tanaka and Noya in marching Ennoshita towards the sushi place Narita’s picked.

Externally, it must seem like an odd group. There’s no single interest that unites them except for, broadly, making movies, and even then there’s not an overlap in what they do - most obviously, Tanaka comes from the other side of the camera to the rest of them, and whilst Ennoshita wouldn’t say that difference really matters, he can’t deny that he just doesn’t understanding acting.

The link, because there is one, this is no random assortment from set, is high school. They weren’t even friends although they were in the same year - Ennoshita knew Kinoshita and Narita, but he never had any awareness of Nishinoya and Tanaka, except perhaps, a memory of them running down a corridor and accordingly drawing the vice principle’s wrath. It was only after graduation that they met, when Ennoshita dragged Kinoshita and Narita out to help him with the five minute films he was making to fill the final, empty weeks of freedom before university, and was scavenging desperately for someone who willing to pretend to be play three different parts (that particular story was about clones, and in hindsight, was far too ambitious). A friend of a friend recommended Tanaka, and with him came Noya who was, and still is, willing to do near enough anything.

The five of them have been meeting up at variable intervals for the last few years. It’s been a few months since they’ve done anything without any other crew - this is Ennoshita’s fault, he realises guiltily, because he always ends up forgetting that there’s anything really important about this particular configuration of five until they actually assemble and he can sink into the easy companionship, and invites other people. With Tanaka’s elbow in his side, Noya ruffling both his and Kinoshita’s hair, and Narita half a step behind and laughing at all of them, Ennoshita feels more content than he has in months.

 

“What are you going to do next?” Tanaka asks, twenty minutes later. (Well, really what he says is, “Fwhatare you gon-ing tuhduh nuxt?” because he’s speaking through a mouthful of chirashizushi, but Ennoshita has the practice to be able to work it out).

“Something cool!” Nishinoya answers immediately, grinning. He clearly hasn’t thought about it, which makes Ennoshita both concerned and a little jealous, because despite the fact he’s spent a lot of time trying to work out what he’s going to do after  _ Fighter HQ  _ wraps, he hasn’t come up with an answer that’s any more practical than Noya’s.

There’s a pause after that, as Narita, Kinoshita and Ennoshita all wait for one of the others to speak, but Kinoshita gives in first.

“I’m probably just going to take on more hours working in the shop,” he says apologetically. “It’s pretty boring.”

Ennoshita wants to reply to this, to combat the melancholy in Kinoshita’s tone, cast off the dull look in his eyes, but doesn’t know what to say. For a screenwriter, or at least, an aspiring one, he can be so disappointingly poor conversation when it matters. Luckily, Narita cuts almost instantly:   
“There’s that internship you’re applying to though, right?” he asks breezily, a small frown that had settled as Kinoshita spoke disappearing as fast as it arrived.

“Oh, yeah!” Instantly, visibly, Kinoshita perks up. “I mean, it’s not definite I’ll get in, which is why I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s in HR at some firm in the middle of the city. I really liked working with everyone on set,” he turns, grinning, to Ennoshita. “So I figured I’d try and do something that means I can work with as many different people as possible!”

“Awesome,” says Tanaka, and Ennoshita nods. This is the first he’s heard about it, and he’ll try and catch Kinoshita later and apologise for that, but for the moment, he just returns his smile.

“That sounds cool.”

“What I’m doing actually is boring,” says Narita, after a moment. “But only I’m allowed to say that. I’m going back to uni.”

“Ew!” Noya says loudly, and Tanaka pulls a face. Ennoshita smirks at them. He had known this, if only because it’s been Narita’s plan since the beginning.

“What are you going to do, Ennoshita?” Tanaka asks him. “Something less nerdy than Narita, right?”

“Hey.”

Ennoshita hesitates for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

“I thought you’d decided on that action movie with the all female cast?” asks Kinoshita.

“The script for the high fantasy one is nearer completion, though.” Ennoshita replies automatically, and then shakes his head. “But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not sure if I can keep making films.”

“You can’t not make films!” Noya sounds scandalised. “It’s your dream! Also, Ryuu is counting on you.”

“What?”

Tanaka shrugs. “I mean, Yamamoto said I could be in one of his music videos, and Bokuto is going to introduce me to his agent, but it’s fun working with you.”

“Only because I let you get away with stuff.” Ennoshita replies absently.

“But you’re good at this,” Kinoshita says, sounding confused. “And people know that. They’re interviewing you for it. It’s not like this is just a hobby, like it is for us.” He indicates himself and Narita. “You have all these ideas, you’ve got to use them.”

“You’ve still got to make something with me and Ryuu as a double act.” Noya adds. “I’m learning to act, y’know. ‘To be or not-’”

“Wait,” says Narita. “Is this because you don’t want to direct anymore, or because you think you won’t be able to?”

“The second one.” Ennoshita can only mumble his reply.

“In which case, you don’t need to worry at all about what you’re doing next,” Kinoshita picks up again. “Because people want to see your films.”

“We all do.” adds Narita.

“And we have great taste.”

“Without wanting to detract from the point, Noya, your taste is terrible. You like those ice lolly things.”

The discussion dissolves after that, turning into an impassioned debate on whether or not soda popsicles are gross, but there’s a sense of determination that follows Ennoshita out of the restaurant and remains with him throughout the afternoon on set and into the evening, when he retires to his office.

 

“Yo.”

Ennoshita looks up, and is surprised at how dark the room has become. Since his lunchtime disappeared he’s working later than he’d planned, although he thinks it’s a reasonable price to pay. Framed by the light from the corridor outside, Futakuchi is waiting in the doorway; the source of the greeting.

“Hi. What can I do for you?” This is the first time they’ve met in person since they started texting, and even though Ennoshita knows endless factoids about him, he’s still not sure where he and Futakuchi stand.

Futakuchi takes a moment to reply. “I was looking for Aone.”

“Oh. Um, I think he’s gone home.”

Futakuchi nods, but instead of leaving, he comes into the room and walks behind Ennoshita so that he can see the screen of his laptop. Ennoshita has been reviewing a rough cut of footage, taken at the beginning of the shoot and crudely edited together, making notes on the worryingly large number of improvements necessary: filler shots; sound effects; any number of minor details that, to Ennoshita, make the scene almost unwatchable.

Leaning over Ennoshita’s shoulder and brushing against his ear as he does so, Futakuchi taps the notebook in which Ennoshita had been compiling his criticisms.

“Are you planning for your director’s commentary?”

“What?”

Futakuchi straightens up, and leans his hip against the table. “Isn’t that what directors do?”

“Not exclusively. Anyway, this is hardly interesting.” He reads a couple of his notes out. “‘Increase saturation’, ‘sound of rain - question mark’.”

“Just act like everyone wants to hear you and they will. Works for me.” The grin Futakuchi gives Ennoshita is no doubt supposed to be winning.

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“You might want to reconsider that.”

“Ennoshita, you wound me.” Futakuchi pouts. Then, there is a pause. He leans forward. “Anyway, you wouldn’t need to. Everything you say seems interesting.”

Ennoshita wants to play it off, but he’s struggling to come up with any comeback any better than a brusque negative. Futakuchi has straightened up and is looking away, and Ennoshita can’t see his expression in the gloom – a slither of yellow from the door stains the carpet but does little to illuminate the rest of the room and, whilst the glow of the laptop screen was just about enough light for note-making, it simply gives Futakuchi’s chin a pale sheen. The silence within the two of them is extending, and the longer it does so, the more impenetrable it seems.

Futakuchi is the first to break it. “Sorry,” he says quickly, stepping back. “I just mean- um. You’re very interesting.” He does a thumbs up, grinning too wide, and Ennoshita can now tell for certain that he’s embarrassed. He is too, although he’s not quite sure why. “I’m going to go and find Aone now.”

“Okay.” replies Ennoshita, automatically. He then immediately regrets it, and stands. “Wait.” Futakuchi pauses, at the door, and looks round, a dark shape against the light. Ah. Being aware that he’s misjudged something does not equate to knowing what to say to right it. Again, he reminds himself he’s a screenwriter. He should be better at this.

This time, Futakuchi does not end the silence, but he does stop it being an issue. In two strides, he’s crossed to where Ennoshita is stood, and then he kisses him.

It’s brief and simple and doesn’t really work. Their mouths don’t fit together, and he’s very aware of Futakuchi’s teeth. Ennoshita’s always been a little disappointed by kisses, expecting grand movie spectaculars that reality falls far short of. When Futakuchi pulls away, he looks mortified, unsure. It kind of makes Ennoshita want to laugh – the expression is alien on Futakuchi’s face – but he’s mostly still caught on this kiss, rather than Futakuchi’s reaction to it, so he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back in.

It’s not like a movie, but it doesn’t have to be.

Afterwards, they make their way to a cafe, bright and grimy and, importantly, still open. Futakuchi seems to have given up on finding Aone. “I’ve still got to interview you again, after all.” Futakuchi proposes jokingly, with a wink, but Ennoshita ignores the tone and starts talking about his top ten directors as they walk there.

In fact, they talk about film almost the whole time: the only references to the colossal shift in their relationship is the way Ennoshita’s fingers keep getting caught up in Futakuchi’s under the table, and one exchange.

Futakuchi asks a technical question, something about camera effects, and lenses, and it strikes Ennoshita. He leans forwards, doesn’t answer Futakuchi’s question - he’s forgotten it, in fact. “Was it you,” he begins, trying to work out how to phrase it. “Who found Shirabu?”   
“Hm?” Futakuchi’s reply is muffled by the biscuit he’s just shoved into his mouth.   
“Oh. A filmmaker who had a lens we needed. It doesn’t matter.”

Futakuchi, hearing this, frantically begins waving his hands, trying to swallow as fast as properly.

“No, no,” he says fast. “It was me. Aone got a call as we eating breakfast and he told me about it and basically I looked the lens guy up and got his number. Easy.”

Ennoshita narrows his eyes; not accusing, just confused. “Really? Because I feel like if it was a case of googling, Akaashi could have done it.”

Futakuchi looks down at the table, strangely hesitant. “Well, basically, I searched him online and found him on some website.” He pauses to sip his hot chocolate, and Ennoshita half-assumes he’s finished. He’s not. “So, I was able to find out where he’s working. I rang the studio, but they wouldn’t tell me anything, because of privacy or something. Tch. But the guy who’s job I’ve just moved into, he was so good, and he’d been in the business long enough to know everyone, basically. So I messaged him, and he was able to get the contact for some important guy at the studio. Anyway, he got get the lens guy’s number for me somehow, I don’t know, by asking around I guess, as a favour to Moniwa - that’s my predecessor. So then Moniwa sent it to me, and I sent it to Aone and then, I guess, you got it.”

“How is that easy?”

“It was fine.” Futakuchi replies, momentarily brash again, before he looks back down with what is definitely a blush spreading across his cheeks. There’s a moment of silence - Ennoshita stirs his second coffee, unsure how to reply. It’s okay, because Futakuchi continues after a minute.

“You know,” he says. “Whilst I’m confessing stuff, there’s this: the first time we met, I spent the whole time trying to work out how to ask you out.”

“Oh.” says Ennoshita. He thinks back to the first time he met Futakuchi, that sense of apathy, which did, he admits, border on dislike. Presumed mutual. He thinks back to earlier that evening, the very same room. That first meeting seems so long ago. It’s not really, he realises.

After a moment, he smiles politely and replies. “You weren’t very successful in that, though, were you.”

Futakuchi grins back, wide. “You’re here with me now, though. Did it in the end.”

(Ennoshita laughs and they move on, but Futakuchi is so proud of his answer - how smooth it was, the way he didn’t trip over a single word - that, when his editor calls him later to ask about a neglected deadline, he recounts the exchange faithfully back to her, before he launches into an extended soliloquy on Ennoshita’s numerous gifts. Eventually, Nametsu just hangs up.)

 

*

 

Yahaba knocks on the door of Ennoshita’s flat at half-past ten in the morning. He claims that it’s a normal time of day for people to be up and receiving guests, but it’s Ennoshita’s home. He makes the rules and he decrees that being up before noon is unnatural. He lets Yahaba in anyway, but it’s a close thing.

It’s been two weeks since principal photography ended, but it’s not like Ennoshita’s workload has decreased, with all the lines that need cut and fillers that need added. It’s just that the time he was getting up is now the time he’s going to sleep.

Despite this, he listens to the tracks Yahaba’s brought for him to listen to happily, and with minimal yawning, and is almost sorry when Yahaba declines a second coffee and says he has to go, he’s meeting Watari for lunch.

“Are we still going out this evening?” he asks, putting his shoes back on.

“Were we ever going out this evening?” It takes Ennoshita a minute to remember. “Oh, that’s tonight. The thing with- everyone.” The whole cast and crew, plus some, are meeting at a restaurant to congratulate themselves on surviving filming. At least, Ennoshita thinks that’s the logic behind the celebration - Narita and Kinoshita have organised it, so he doesn’t really know. “Yeah.”

“In that case, do you want to come round this evening, before it starts? Watari, Akaashi, maybe Kyoutani - we’re all going to turn up together.”

Ennoshita shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Oh?”

“I’m meeting Kenji.”   
Yahaba is struggling with his second shoe, but he pauses in his efforts to give Ennoshita an incredulous look. “Who?”

“Futakuchi Kenji, Aone’s roommate? The journalist.”

“Oh.” For a moment, Yahaba sounds completely convinced by that explanation, and manages to jam his heel into his trainer, before confusion reforms on his face. “Since when did you call him  _ Kenji _ ? Didn’t you hate him?”

“I never hated him.” Ennoshita replies, defensively, and is embarrassingly ready to make more excuses on that count when Yahaba continues.

“Right, maybe that was just me. He seemed rude.”

“You’ve only met him once.”

“I thought you’d only met him once.” Yahaba ponders this. “More interviews?”

“Uh, no. More of, like, a date.”

For a minute, Yahaba doesn’t respond, but then he gives a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Honestly, Ennoshita. You charmed the rude journalist and got your dream job. You’re living a rom com.”

**Author's Note:**

> a few disclaimers: i've been working on this fic for so long that i just want to get it out of my drafts, so there will probably still be issues. i'll fix them, eventually. probably.  
> most everything i know about filmmaking is from watching the 'behind the scenes' in dvd special features, so whilst i've done my best to check, there may be some inaccuracies. but hey, ennoshita's a pioneer. he doesn't stick to the rules. probably.  
> ennoshita's films are references to actual extras, but, i'm not sure that furudate's crew for haikyuu fighter (fighter hq in the fic) is the same as the one i've used - i've largely carried it over from house of crows (also known as 'crow's home', if you're looking it up) over. it shouldn't make too much difference. probably.
> 
> so, this fic is the product of? at least seven months of work. it's surreal that i'm done with it; i'm terrified of pressing publish. it's gone through several iterations and i'm not sure if this is exactly where i thought it would end up. that said, this was always going to be a fic about (a) ennoshita (b) second years in general (3) friendship amongst the afore mentioned, and i'd like to think that's its essence still.  
> mostly, though, i'd like to thank you for reading this, and i really hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
> (the title's from clark gable by the postal service, which has this whole movie-making conceit going on. also i love it.)


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